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poetry poem

en el puerto de York nueva
en alguna parte leí un cuento extraño, viejo, oxidado
no sea falso
por el puente grosero
cómo como las estrellas es este el blanco, las caras sin nombre
hay un país por completo del vino
paredes y enorme altos
se van los tres, esas hermanas raras
las naves están mintiendo en la bahía

 



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